Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Gloria hummed Jingle Bells as she inched opened the oven door and bent to peer inside. Delicious heat rushed out in a wave, and her cheeks went rosy. She closed the oven door and puffed out a breath, lifting the damp red curls off her forehead.

  A quick glance at the clock told her she was going to be late to Winnie’s place to talk about the pageant. Not that the old sweetheart would ever be upset about starting a few minutes tardy, but being late wouldn’t do. She was prompt if nothing else. And, unlike the night before, only Tara and Winnie would be at this meeting, so no need to worry about anything but the pageant.

  The back door banged closed and she smiled. That would be Fergus coming in from the greenhouses. And if the sound of clattering bins were any indication, he’d brought home fresh produce.

  She couldn’t help tossing one last glance toward the oven as she headed to help Fergus.

  The old man looked up and a tired smile stretched across his wrinkled face. “Hello, Pippi.” He grinned.

  “Oh, Grandpa.” Gloria scoffed, reaching for the bin of potatoes at the old man’s feet. “You know I hate that nickname. Besides, I’m a full-grown woman.”

  “But you’ll always be my favorite red-headed pixie.”

  She headed back toward the kitchen, taking the bin with her. “I’ll have dinner on the table in a minute, and then I have to run into town for a meeting.”

  Shuffling along behind her, Fergus nodded. “Right, right, the pageant.”

  She put the bin onto the counter by the fridge, then bent to peek back into the oven. “Did you leave those muddy boots by the door?” Pulling the oven open wider, she leaned closer for a better look. “And how’d you know about the meeting?”

  “It’s Smithville, honey,” the old man chided, heading back to the mudroom to remove his ancient boots.

  Snatching up two potholders, Gloria wiped her forehead on one shoulder. Of course, there’d be gossip. How could she forget? Carefully she reached into the oven and pulled out a steaming casserole dish. She placed it on the top of the stove, then bent to retrieve the second one.

  Fergus’ stocking feet shuffled toward the bathroom to clean up, muttering about meetings and Christmas pageants as he went. She frowned. His steps were slower these days, and she wondered how much longer he’d be able to keep up the greenhouses.

  But time was a factor, so she shook off her concerns. Dropping to one knee, she rummaged through a cabinet looking for one of the many padded dish carriers that she stashed there. She quickly tucked the covered casserole into the patchwork carrier then tied the drawstring top closed. Next, she removed the lid of the other dish, and placed it on the small table in the eat-in kitchen.

  With a practiced eye, she hastily took in the place setting she’d prepared for her grandfather, complete with silverware, napkin, and water glass. The kitchen and the furniture may be old and battered, but she did manage to set a pretty table. Hurrying to the fridge, she retrieved a green salad in a glass bowl and grabbed the ranch dressing from the door. Once she was satisfied that Fergus would be able to relax and enjoy his dinner, she hurried to her room.

  However, once she stood in front of her closet, her confidence flagged and her shoulders drooped. What to wear was a constant struggle these days. It had hurt to learn that the women in town didn’t admire her, or wish they could date as many men as she did. No, they thought she was a tramp.

  If Lizzie hadn’t been kind enough to help, she’d still be traipsing around town in her flashy clothes, flirting like crazy, trying to win everyone over. She’d also be clueless as to why all the women disliked her, and why men dumped her about the time she hoped to get serious.

  She hadn’t wasted any time taking all her brightly colored, tight-fitting, sexy clothes to Goodwill. But that left only drab, worn out items in her closet.

  She missed her pretty clothes.

  Feeling the moments slip away, she finally tugged on a clean pair of jeans and a baggy T-shirt, then hopped on one foot down the hall as she pulled on her old sneakers. Ducking into the tiny bathroom, she brushed her long wavy hair into a fresh ponytail, then returned to the kitchen.

  Fergus sat at the table. He glanced up with the serving spoon full of casserole. “Don’t you look pretty,” he praised, plopping a serving of chicken and noodles onto his plate.

  “You’d say that if I was wearing a potato sack,” she said, dropping a kiss on his weathered cheek. “Do you have everything you need?”

  He looked down at the table, then back up to his granddaughter. “You take good care of me, sweetie,” he said, his eyes glistening. Then concern crossed his face. “You’re not going to eat?”

  She poked her arms into the sleeves of her tattered denim jacket and shook her head. Snatching up her purse and tossing it over her shoulder, she reached for the casserole carrier on the counter. “I’ll eat leftovers when I get home. Just put them in the fridge, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” he called over his shoulder.

  In a rush, she hurried through the mudroom and stepped over the two hound dogs sleeping on the back stoop. As long as she didn’t have to wait at the train crossing, she’d be on time.

  * * *

  Marge leaned one elbow on the counter and dropped her chin into her hand. Now eye level with Ned, her gaze penetrated him to the very core.

  He squirmed on the red, vinyl and chrome stool, wishing the waitress would go back to the kitchen and harass the cook instead of him.

  “Well?” she demanded, watching him chew.

  Ned swallowed, then gave Marge his best back-away stare. How did she managed to maintain a bouffant hairdo in this day and age?

  She plopped her fists on the hips of her pink waitress uniform. “You’re not gonna say anything, are you?” She harrumphed.

  Ned smirked an evil Grinch-type grin. Marge always tried to trick him into critiquing the food, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with that tonight. “I already said it w—was good, and that’s all you’ll g—get out of me.”

  The old man at the other end of the counter watched the exchange between Marge and the deputy. “He ain’t gonna tell you anything more, you know.”

  The waitress tossed him an irritated glance. “Did I ask you, Willie?”

  “This ain’t nothin’,” Willie retorted. “You should see my cousin Gary. He ain’t said a word in two years.”

  Both Ned and Marge turned to him, their expressions showing their doubt. Tara had befriended the old man, encouraging the hermit to come to town, and they had all taken the poor old guy under their wing. But he was definitely considered eccentric.

  “Okay, okay, maybe he’s said a few words,” Willie amended. His hands lifted in surrender.

  Ned returned his attention back to his plate.

  Marge sniffed in dismissal, then turned back to Ned. “Fine, have it your way.” She sashayed into the kitchen.

  He might have felt bad, if he hadn’t been eating dinner at the cafe nearly every night for nigh-on ten years. But Ned knew that Marge’s questioning would be endless if given a chance, and the next morning she would bring him coffee with a smile, just like she always did.

  Stabbing his fork full of green beans, he dabbed them in the gravy on his plate and returned his attention to contemplating the evening to come. Justin had called earlier and asked him to come by the Inn after dinner. He’d said he wanted to talk about the sets for the pageant. Ned smoothed back the shock of long hair hanging over his forehead. This must mean he was already assigned to work on the dang pageant.

  Tara was bound to be there too, seeing as how she was Justin’s wife; and small talk with beautiful women, even ones he’d known his whole life, wasn’t his thing. He could throw any size and shape of ball with precision, and run for hours without getting winded, but talking face to face with women? It was difficult to be confident when half his words would come out stuttered.

  With a sigh he swabbed the last bite of his dinner roll across his plate,
cleaning up every last drop of gravy, then tucked it in his mouth and chewed. He’d just have to go out there and find out what Justin wanted. More than likely, he’d been nominated to build sets or something as equally time-consuming. Nothing much had been decided at the meeting last night, other than a definite yes to the whole thing, but no details or assignments.

  He rose from the stool and glanced toward the kitchen. Marge was nowhere in sight, but the cook, his glistening cheeks red as ever, raised a hand in farewell.

  Ned walked away, but not before he heard the cook harass the waitress. “Why you gotta do that to Deputy Knight?” he asked.

  Not waiting to hear the answer, Ned dropped a ten-dollar bill on the counter, offered a goodbye wave to Willie, and tugged on his uniform cap.

  As bells jingled over the door, signaling he’d left, Marge peeked around the corner to watch him stalk down the sidewalk. “Because, when that handsome thing stutters, I think he’s adorable. If I were thirty years younger…” she said with a long sigh.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Ned stood on the porch of the bed and breakfast inn. Eyeing the end of the porch, he thought about Gloria the night before. With one adjustment of his uniform cap, he reached for the doorbell. A loud crash from inside, followed by the wail of a baby. Running footsteps along with the mutter of a concerned female voice made him wonder if all was well. He hesitated, unsure if perhaps he should leave them be, but then the baby’s cries died down and once again all fell quiet.

  He pushed the button, and the dong of the bell echoed inside, followed by a shuffle of footsteps. The door swung open, and Tara regarded him, looking harried and tired, holding a cherubic baby on one hip. Crocodile tears rolled down the baby’s cheeks, and her bottom lip poked out as she hiccupped with fading sobs.

  “Hi, Ned,” Tara sighed, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind one ear. “Justin’s expecting you. Come on in.”

  Ned stepped across the threshold and the baby reached for him, nearly lunging out of her mother’s arms.

  Tara grabbed for the baby with an apology on her lips, but Ned reached out for the little one and settled her in his arms, nestling her against his uniformed chest. She stared up at him with bright shining eyes, causing him to grin toward Tara in triumph.

  Tara tossed one hand in the air. “Will you look at that? Nothing has made her happy all day.”

  Making soothing, cooing sounds, he bounced the baby, and she erupted into giggles.

  Tara bit her bottom lip, then glanced toward the stairs. “I’ve got to get to Winnie’s, but I haven’t had a chance to get ready. Would you mind holding her for a few minutes while I change my shirt and grab a few things?”

  He grinned down at the baby. “Go ahead, we’re g—good.”

  Watching as the handsome deputy settled on the sofa to bounce Isabelle on his knees, Tara sighed in relief. “I’ll only be a minute. And I’ll send Justin right down,” she promised, inching backward toward the stairs. Ned grinned at the baby, so she took advantage of the opportunity to sneak a few minutes for herself and sprinted up the steps.

  About halfway through the second round of patty-cake, Justin came down the stairs. “What have we here?” He laughed. “Is someone courting my daughter already?”

  Ned stood, nestling the baby in the crook of his arm. “She’s perfect.” He grinned, patting her tiny back with his other hand.

  Justin reached for his daughter, and she leaned out to her father, chubby arms extended. “Sorry about that. I hope she wasn’t a problem,” he said, cuddling his little girl.

  “Not—n— not a bit,” Ned assured, ignoring the wet spot on his knee where her diaper had leaked.

  Tara thundered down the steps wearing a clean shirt, with her hair neatly combed and a giant bag slung over one shoulder. Quickly she assessed the situation then visibly relaxed, relieved that everyone seemed happy and contented.

  Chapter Two

  Hustling through the cool evening, Gloria headed up the walk of Winnie’s beautifully restored Victorian house. Swapping the casserole carrier from one hand to the other, she tucked her car keys into her purse. On the porch, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and rang the doorbell, then waited, admiring the wreath made from giant, red and green glass balls, on the door.

  The porch light clicked on over her head, and the door swung open to reveal a pretty old lady wearing a frilly Christmas apron and sensible shoes.

  “Gloria,” the old woman gushed. “Do come in.”

  “Hi, Winnie,” Gloria said, lifting the covered dish to see the threshold as she stepped through the door. “Here’s the casserole. Sorry, I’m a few minutes late. I would have made it on time, but as I passed the old Herbert place I noticed their goat was out again, so I stopped to—” She paused as her attention wandered over Winnie’s shoulder, past the Christmas tree, and caught sight of the skinny young man standing in the kitchen doorway. “Oh, hi Bobby.”

  Bobby nodded silently, his eyes magnified through his thick, black-rimmed glasses.

  Winnie took the casserole. “Bobby came to deliver this,” she explained to Gloria over her shoulder as she huffed across the room. “Here, dear.” she handed Bobby the carrier. “You rush this right over to Mrs. Carter, and you tell her it’s from me, you understand?”

  The little man’s eyes flitted to Gloria and back. “Yes’m.”

  “Hurry along now, and thank you,” Winnie said with one knobby hand on Bobby’s back to keep him moving.

  Both women watched through the open doorway as Bobby crossed the porch. Winnie closed the door and frowned at Gloria. “You know I hate lying to people,” she said, her expression stern.

  Gloria waved her off as she shrugged out of her jacket. “Come on; you know Nadine needs help, with her pregnancy trouble and all. And God knows she’d never take it from me.”

  Hanging Gloria’s jacket on a hook near the door, Winnie shrugged. “I don’t understand people sometimes,” she lamented. “She’s all judgy and paranoid about you, just because you dated Robert years ago.”

  “No big deal,” Gloria lied as she headed into the kitchen. She had spent years walking around in flashy inappropriate clothing that showed off too much her figure, it was no wonder the pregnant woman insecure. And she had dated Robert for well over a year… “What ever you’re baking smells amazing.”

  Winnie padded along behind the younger woman. “I made apple dumplings for refreshments.”

  Taking a long sniff, Gloria grinned. “Then let’s get this meeting over with!”

  Winnie chuckled and moved to the oven to lift the dishtowel and peep at the dumplings. “Don’t you think we should wait until Tara arrives?”

  Gloria plopped onto a stool at the large kitchen island. “Oh, I suppose so. If you insist.”

  Before they could say another word, the back door burst open and Tara tromped into the kitchen carrying a bundled baby and a huge diaper bag. Gloria jumped up to close the door, and Winnie reached for the baby.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Tara puffed, plopping the diaper bag on the kitchen island. “I swear I have to pack the whole house up to go anywhere.”

  “Nanana!” the chubby baby chimed as Winnie sat her on the counter to unzip her coat and tug out her tiny hands.

  “How is my sweetest little Isabelle?” the old woman cooed, snuggling the baby to her chest for a hug, then holding her back for a good look. “Tara, I swear,” she said, glancing past the baby to her mother, “this baby grows an inch every day!”

  Dropping limply onto a bar stool, Tara agreed. “I know, she weighs a ton.”

  Absorbed with the baby, Winnie cooed and cuddled her as the younger women looked on. Finally, the old woman placed Isabelle into a highchair and pulled it up to the counter. The baby squawked and squealed, banging her open palms on the tray, so Winnie hurried around the chair to dig through a drawer. Triumphantly she returned and dropped a big wooden spoon as well as several jar rings tied with a red ribbon onto the highchair tray.

>   Isabelle snatched up the spoon and banged it on the tray, flinching at each thump.

  Gloria watched the baby play, her heart melting at the sight. Some days it seemed like she’d never have a family of her own. Fergus was wonderful, but she longed for children. Sadly, her relationships never got serious enough to consider marriage, let alone a baby.

  “—right, Gloria?” Tara asked, dragging her back to the issue at hand.

  The baby tossed the spoon on to the floor and picked up the jar rings, jangling them with glee.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Gloria asked, blinking in confusion.

  “This racket is enough to wake the dead!” Tara called over the clatter. “Winnie, don’t you have any quiet toys?”

  “She loves the noisy ones, dear!” Winnie hollered, grinning at the baby in adoration.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Tara huffed, stomping to the cupboard. She pulled out a box of crackers, then traded the baby a cracker for the noisy set of jar rings. “There,” she grumbled, tossing Winnie a look. “Maybe now we can speak in complete sentences.”

  Winnie smiled serenely and watched the baby gum the cracker. The old woman was understandably far too much in love with Isabelle to be ruffled by Tara.

  * * *

  “So that’s about it,” Justin said, leaning back into the sofa, crossing one ankle over his other knee. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, especially with the extra work you have over the holidays, but will you do it?”

  Ned massaged his temples between his thumb and middle finger, his big hand covering his eyes as he considered his options. “You know this will mean no more Saturday morning basketball games,” he muttered.

  Justin frowned. “Yeah, I suppose.” He waved one hand. “You disappear every other weekend anyway; I guess we’ll have to put our games on hold until January.” A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “Where do you go anyway? Are you hiding a woman somewhere?”